


Cryptozoology 101

by sconelover



Series: SHEPSCAPADES [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: 5+1 Things, Cryptozoology, Happy Birthday Caitybug!, Just giving y'all monsterfuckers what you want and need, M/M, Monsterfucking, Monsterfucking Diaries, Our good friend Shep chilling with the cryptids and monsters, Sexual exploration through cryptozoology, Shepard Monsterfucker Extraordinaire, Shepard x Mothman, The name's Omaha, shepard from omaha - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28706559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover
Summary: I think it’s more than being a little into cryptozoology.I mean, Mothman’s got me on my knees, pushed against a tree with my pants down to my ankles, so really— cryptozoology is about to be into me.aka:The Exclusive Monsterfucking Diaries of Shepard from Omaha(2015-2017, illustrated)
Relationships: Shepard/Mothman, Shepard/Original Male Character
Series: SHEPSCAPADES [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104398
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	Cryptozoology 101

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caitybug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/gifts).



> My dearest Caitu, **HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! ❤️**  
>  You are a wonderful friend, an amazingly positive presence in my life, a good noodle, and most of all, the #1 Shepard of my heart. And what better way to honor your absolute Shep energy than an exploration of his intriguing past? 😉 Hope you enjoy!

I think it’s more than being a _little_ into cryptozoology. 

I mean, Mothman’s got me on my knees, pushed against a tree with my pants down to my ankles, so really— cryptozoology is about to be into _me._

He’s an imposing thing, with a wingspan as wide as a van and legs covered in thick black fur. His eyes glow in the fading dusk, haloing us in red. He chirps questioningly—good to know ominous, dark creatures are into consent, I guess—and I turn my head.

Red eyes meet mine. He clicks his beak twice, then nips at my shoulder affectionately. “Alright, buddy,” I say. “Go for it. _Slowly._ And do _not_ put those talons _anywhere_ near my dick.”

He cocks his head, skeptically. **_Are you sure?_ **

“I’ll take care of it,” I assure him. “But that’s… considerate of you.”

I wish I could say I don’t know how I got here, but the truth is, I put myself here. It wasn’t entirely on purpose, but it wasn’t entirely on accident, either; I had plenty of time to turn back by the time I realized what was happening.

I came out to Point Pleasant, West Virginia for the Mothman Festival. It was awesome; the entire main street of the town was taken over with everyone dressed up as Mothman or Ghostbusters or the Men in Black. You could listen to guest speakers, go to the Mothman Museum, or take a bus tour of the TNT bunker where they had the Mothman sighting back in the 60s. I left with a forearm covered in Sharpied-on phone numbers and a basket of Mothman cookies. 

And yeah, I could’ve called any of those people if I just wanted a good fuck—I met this guy who I’m like 99% sure was an actual werewolf (or maybe he was just hairy, no judgement)—but again, I didn’t _really_ mean to fuck Mothman. 

I was in West Virginia already. And no one goes to West Virginia without at least _trying_ to find Mothman. Actual Mothman, not the 12-foot tall statue in Point Pleasant. (That statue, though… if any statue could get it, it’d be that one.) 

But after two days of wandering around in the middle of the fucking woods, searching for… I don’t know, a giant nest made of human hair or something?... I was just sweaty. And tired. And hungry.

So I drove back to civilization, got myself a burrito, and started planning. Back to the drawing board—a literal one, this huge whiteboard I keep in my truck. I scrolled to the 17th page of Google, scouring for leads. 

Eventually, I triangulated a new location. And this time, I was armed with a plan.

The plan has, in fact, backfired a little. Not that I’m complaining. Long, feathery fingers wrap around my neck to hold me in place as Mothman pushes into me. His talons dig into my shoulder and he lets out an entirely human-like groan. “That’s it,” I say, and I brace my forearms against the tree. 

I didn’t know what equipment I expected Mothman to have. Some birds have cloacas—an opening that functions as a one-size-fits-all kind of deal. Waterfowl have penises; I guess I should be grateful he doesn’t have a duck penis (they’re corkscrew-shaped, which, just, _ouch)._

Even though he’s got bird _wings,_ I guess the name Mothman implies that he’s part moth. Part giant-freaky-moth. And I don’t even want to get into moth genitalia.

Anyway, Mothman’s got a surprisingly human cock. It’s a bit… furry? Feathery? I made him wear a condom. (Extra-extra-large.) (I mean, I would’ve made him wear a condom anyway. Safe sex is important, kids.) I wonder if he’s fucked a human before. Wonder if he’s fucked _anyone_ (or anything). Are there more Mothmen?

That’s how I got here—attempting a Mothman mating ritual. I picked one of those patio lamps they like so much at Home Depot. The rest was kind of an experimental process: a little moth-mating (the weird, kinky one that gold swift moths do), little bit of human-mating (brought my guitar, bouquet of flowers, and a picnic), little bit of bird-mating.

So there I was. Holding roses, which I forgot a freaking plastic sleeve for, so the thorns were pricking into my fingers. Doing an albatross/penguin courtship dance. Trying my best to exude moth pheromones or something.

I want to believe it was all that that attracted Mothman. But it was probably just the giant freaking lamp I was waving around.

One second I’m alone, and the next there’s a thump. Something dark and wicked dropped down from the tree, landing heavily among rustling leaves. Glowing eyes in the deep. I swallowed.

And then one sharp talon was lifting my chin so I could meet his eyes. _Mothman._ It was really him. He spread his wings in the most imposing way, thrusting us into shadows. Stalked around me like I was his prey. Clicked his pointed beak; leaned in close to smell my neck.

I should’ve been scared, but I was just excited out of my mind. “Hey,” I said. “You must be Mothman. I’m Shepard, from Omaha.” He paused, blinked at me. “Nice to meet you.”

He froze. His other hand closed around my shoulder, feathers tickling my skin. 

“You speak English?” 

He shook his head.

“You understand it, though.”

He hesitated, then nodded. He took a heavy step away from me, seeming almost… scared? His gaze fixated on the lamp.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” I said, lifting my hands in the air in a show of peace. “Or capture you. Or even take a picture. I just wanted to meet you. Be friends, maybe.”

He cocked his head. **_Friends?_ **

“Hey!” I exclaimed. “You talked!”

He shook his head no, narrowing his glowing eyes. **_I did not._ **

I crossed my arms. “You just did it again.”

His eyes stuck on my forearms. Then he slowly dragged his gaze up my body, lingering on my chest, where my shirt was plastered to me with sweat, and my neck as I swallowed again. 

“I, uh… I’m sorry for tricking you. I didn’t actually mean to court you.”

His gaze burned into me. **_That is disappointing._ **

Oh.

_Oh._

Wings and feathers rustled as he stepped closer, towering over me. Not as tall as the statue, but he had a foot or two on me at least. He smelled like the forest; earth and pine and something musky. 

“I mean, I– I _could,”_ I stuttered out. “If you. I don’t know which way you swing…”

**_All ways._ **

“Okay, good to hear, yeah—”

I stopped short when he grasped hold of my wrist and pressed it right to his stomach. A wicked six-pack, just like in the statue, but coated in a layer of fuzz. I gasped.

 **_Shepard from Omaha,_ ** Mothman said in my mind, **_would you like to come to my nest?_ **

An invite to _Mothman’s nest._

Hell yeah.

* * *

Evergreen and feathers everywhere. His wings are spread over us like a canopy, rigid with tension as he shifts deeper into me. 

I moan, and then gasp out, “Ever been with a human?”

**_Never._ **

“Anyone?”

**_I get around._ **

Oh my god. 

“Like who?”

**_Sheepsquatch._ **

“Really?” I’d wondered if Sheepsquatch was real. 

**_Once. We were young and stupid._ **

“How young is young?”

He jerks his hips, and I groan. 

**_I was only 102._ **

Holy crap. (Never had an age gap like this…)

“Well, how was he?”

**_Aggressive. Too many horns. Too many teeth._ **

“Sounds like a fun time.”

**_Maybe to you, Shepard from Omaha._ **

“Well, wanna show me _your_ idea of a fun time?”

Jesus, I’m throwing bad pickup lines at a centuries-old mythical creature. But I need him to _move._ Maybe I should show a little more respect, but like, I’m naked. What can I do?

Luckily, it works. His abs press against my back as he closes in, thrusting so deep I see stars. He squeezes the back of my neck as he pulls out, then shoves back in. My forehead scrapes the peeling bark of the tree. 

It’s good. Really good. Hitting just the right spot. A little rough, but somehow tender as well.

Mothman’s other hand is gripping my shoulder hard enough to draw blood. He leans down and licks at it with a rough tongue, and I moan. 

**_Moths typically mate face to face._ **

His broad hand shifts to my stomach, feathery and warm. 

“So do men,” I manage to choke out among whimpers. He’s moving steadily, holding me tight in place even as I try to match his thrusts. “Sometimes.”

So slow and steady. Warm fuzz and feathers caress my jaw. I’ll never come like this; I’ll just be trapped on the brink for ages. 

My sweaty knees slip on the soft material of the nest—a mishmash of feathers, some kind of old foam insulation, denim, and crushed leaves—and my hands crash to the floor. I brace myself on my palms, groaning at the new angle. _“Jesus.”_

**_Who’s that?_ **

My mind’s fuzzing out as Mothman grasps for my neck again. I close my eyes. “Never mind.”

I push back to meet him, and he grunts. 

“Faster?” I say hopefully. I whine, embarrassingly, when he pulls out. 

**_Turn over,_ **he says, and when I don’t move right away, he grabs me by the shoulders and flips me roughly, as easily as if I were a pancake. I rasp in a breath. He crowds me further into the soft nest, sending us bouncing a little, then hovers over me imposingly.

He looks like something from Hell.

And I’m kind of into it.

Scratch that—I’m really into it, if the way my heart’s pounding is any indication. If the pressure down below is any clue…

He wrenches my hand away before I can touch myself. Pins it up above my head. I swallow.

Mothman impatiently peels my pants off the rest of the way, fumbling and ripping them a little. He throws them to the side. (It’s okay; they can become part of his nest.) 

I expect more of the same roughness, but his touch is gentle as he pushes my knees to my chest and lines himself up again. He rumbles out a long, low moan as he bears down.

It’s a lot. I lay my head back on the bed of feathers (and… the remains of a yellow Slip N’ Slide?) and try to relax and take it. His soft-yet-hard abs brush my chest; his beak grazes my ear, and I shiver. 

**_Ready?_ **

I reach up and take my glasses off, tucking them somewhere off to the side for safekeeping. (I have three spares in the car; it’ll be okay.) “For what?”

He pulls out, snaps his hips into me again, and I moan. “For _what?”_ I repeat.

And then something _moves_ inside me. Not a simple twitch or the same old back-and-forth motion; no, this is something else. I let out a sound of surprise, stare at him with wide eyes. “What—”

His cock curls and presses against my prostate. I cry out.

He holds my knees in an iron grip, pressing me into the nest as I writhe around. _Fuck—_ I almost never curse, but this demands it— _fuck,_ it’s like a tongue. But better. Longer.

_“Fuck.”_

**_Indeed._ **

“Do it again,” I gasp.

He starts up a rhythm again, hard and strong. His neck is right in my face, and I press my lips to it; it’s feathery, warm, muscular. He pounds into me, and his cock bends just barely, getting every angle just right.

It’s mind-blowing.

I don’t even know what sounds are tumbling out of me. Mothman’s keening above me, somewhere near my hair. I suck his neck, and he rumbles. He fucks into me so hard that the nest swings wildly to the left, startling a flock of birds away.

I gasp, and open my eyes.

Mothman’s glowing red gaze is surprisingly warm. Earnest, for a who-knows-how-old possibly-demonic humanoid being. He thrusts so deep that I choke.

He makes a purring noise as his cock swells inside me. 

“Wait,” I gasp. 

He stops and blinks down at me.

**_What is it, Shepard from Omaha?_ **

“Can we–” I have to catch my breath. I feel so full around him. “Can we try one more position?”

 **_If you want._ **The voice echoing in my head sounds confused. 

“You can fly,” I explain, gesturing at his wings. I look down—shouldn’t have done that. The sight of me stretched around him makes me whimper. “Ever done it in the air?”

**_Only with Megara._ **

“Who?”

**_Mothwoman._ **

Oh my god.

“Wanna try?”

He shrugs, then slides out. I exhale. He picks me up easily, bridal-style, slinging me to his broad, muscled chest. I loop an arm around his neck, nuzzle into the feathers, still breathless. “Alright. Let’s go.”

He crouches, then shoots up from his nest into the canopy. I hang on tightly and whoop.

**_Hush._ **

“Sorry.”

His wings beat loudly, stirring the air around us. We soar through the trees, leaves just barely starting to turn colors. The forest grows denser as we go, shielding us from view. He comes to a stop, hovering amidst the cover of the trees. 

**_Here._ **

I shudder. And then turn my head to face him again. 

I don’t know if he has eyebrows. If he did, he’d be raising one.

“I don’t have the core strength for this.”

**_Humans are weak._ **

“Don’t I know it,” I laugh. He spreads his wings wide and grasps under my thighs to lift me up. I wrap my legs around his torso, feeling the quills of the feathers dig into my skin. 

I reach down and take hold of his dick. He rumbles his approval as I line myself up and slowly slip back down onto him. I knock my face against his collarbone, groaning. It’s deeper like this. Fuller.

I rock against him once, but I can’t move too much—I’m basically impaled here (it’s almost funny), and one wrong move will send me tumbling to the ground. 

**_Need help?_ **

“I’m usually good at this,” I complain.

**_You’re out of your element._ **

“Babe,” I say, and he chirps in surprise at the term of endearment, “I’m Shepard from Omaha. I’m _never_ out of my element.”

**_Even while riding a Mothman?_ **

_“Especially_ while riding a Mothman. Who do you think I am?”

**_We just met._ **

“It was rhetorical. All right.” I clench my arms around his neck and raise myself up, sweating, then drop back down. We both grunt. “That’s good. That’s good, right?”

He rumbles a sound of approval.

“Wanna help me out?”

A sort of negative rumble. 

**_I like watching you._ **

Oh. Wow.

I think this is the best day of my life. I mean, Mothman— _Mothman—_ thinks I’m hot. Thinks it’s hot watching me struggle on his dick. While we’re flying.

This is like a freaking fever dream.

He beats his wings, sending us bouncing in the air. His cock writhes in me again, pushing in deeper still. I rock again, following the motion of our flight. Every beat of his wings pushes him in deeper, harder. He rubs his neck up to my mouth, and I take the hint and start sucking.

It’s a little feathery, but mostly like normal skin. He rumbles again when I bite down, then lets out a chirp. He claps a hand onto my ass and starts moving me up and down in earnest, controlling our motions. He flaps his wings once, twice, and I groan. 

We keep up a steady rhythm. The forest whistles around us; the trees whisper ancient things. This is so _cool._ (This is so _hot.)_ I’m shaking with tension.

“You almost there, buddy?” I gasp out.

He gives a confused grumble.

“Sorry, habit.”

**_Do you frequently call your mates ‘buddy’?_ **

I bury my face in his neck, breathing in the pine and something underneath the surface, something kind of dusty. “I don’t usually ‘mate.’”

Jeez, I hope he hasn’t imprinted on me or something. Worst case I’ve got a spare pillow in the car; I can spray it with some of my cologne, toss it into his nest, and run for my life. 

I roll my hips down again, and he meets me thrust for thrust. He grabs the back of my neck, holding me tightly to him. His cock stops its stroking inside me; it stills, then swells, straightening out.

“Oh,” I gasp.

He presses my hand to my own dick.

I stare right into his glowing red eyes as we finish.

When I shake out of my haze, we’re streaking back to Mothman’s nest. He’s still inside me. (I guess that’s one way to make sure I don’t fall off?) He rumbles affectionately as we land heavily in a heap of limbs and feathers.

He carefully pulls out, then stares at me expectantly, almost helplessly. I giggle and take care of the condom (those talons can’t be helpful), tossing it to the side. I watch in wonder as his cock retracts fully into his fuzzy torso.

“Wow.”

**_Yours is the weird one._ **

“You’re probably right.” I lay back into the nest with my hands behind my head. I’m bone-tired. Not sure if Mothman is the cuddly type. “Wanna snuggle?”

**_Excuse me?_ **

“Y’know.” I take his hand and tug him down to lay next to me. He’s warm and musky, and as long as anything sharp doesn’t get where it’s not supposed to…

“Yeah. Like that.” 

Mothman envelops me all around, and I sink in. Fuzzy arms circle my bare torso, clutching me tightly. I can hear his heartbeat; it’s three times as fast as a human’s, almost whizzing. 

**_This is nice._ **

“Bet you don’t get a lot of snuggles.”

He sighs and wraps his large wings around us, casting us into darkness. 

**_Shepard from Omaha._ **

“Yeah?”

**_Nothing. I just want to remember you._ **

I fall asleep in his arms.

* * *

When I wake up, I’m in the bed of my truck. 

I sit up and look around, rubbing my head. I’m naked, but covered in what appears to be the tattered remains of a drug rug. My glasses are intact, carefully set on the lip of the truck bed.

I put them on and blink at the sunrise. 

There’s no trace of Mothman. No trace that that _ever_ happened. (It did—it couldn’t have been a dream.) (Dreams aren’t _that_ good.) 

I crane my neck, but I can’t see his nest. Can’t see anything but dense evergreen and a few squirrels. I wrap the blanket around myself and clamber out of the truck, shivering. God, everything _aches._ (It definitely was real.)

I stare at the forest for a long time in a daze. I think I should write this down or something, but I can’t do much but sit here right now. 

The sun comes up. The forest is alive, but not with the one I’m looking for. 

_Mothman._

_I won’t forget you._

I start up my car and back out to the main road. As I do, a single black feather falls from my hair and floats into my lap.

_There you are._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! There is a lot more coming (as in... a 5+1 sort of deal), so subscribe to the series for updates 👀
> 
> Thanks to my amazing betas and cheerleaders: [Peach,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflyingpeach/pseuds/theflyingpeach) [Dem,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn/pseuds/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn) [Seb,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker/works?page=1) and [May!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twokisses/pseuds/twokisses/works) ❤️ 
> 
> And thank you to Selkie for letting me use her [adorable Shep x Mothman art!](https://subparselkie.tumblr.com/post/623765466032275456/wip-weds-so-i-was-tagged-by-like-30-people-but-i)


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